


Prey

by 30SecondGoat



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hunters, The hunter's nightmare, Yharnam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30SecondGoat/pseuds/30SecondGoat
Summary: In Yharnam, there are no happy endings. Just differing levels of the same, sad story.
Kudos: 8





	Prey

_ My prey. _

Wails and moans echoed through the streets of Yharnam, rising and subsiding in tide-like waves through the lamp-lit streets. The stench of rot, decay and waste permeated every brick of every building, now long ignored by its inhabitants. Oversized rats scurried into sewers and alleys as crows, obese and almost flightless from years of feasting on the dead, screeched horrid avian curses from the rafters and ledges. Victorian spires rose high into the air, towering over the cramped and narrow houses that lined the streets; so close that neighbors might shake hands across two windows, were any brave enough to try.

The Crow’s eyeless mask peered down from one such spire, a feathered gargoyle against the pale full moon that lit the night. Her deep blue cape and leggings were both covered in raven feathers, their gentle rustling in the rancid breeze betraying her stoic stance. The gray shape of the beak, reminiscent of the plague doctors of her home country, jutted out menacingly from under a wide-brimmed hat as it followed the figure she had seen stumbling along below.

With no sound she dropped from the ledge, disappearing into the maze of houses and walls below. It was time to hunt.

The man stumbled slightly, catching himself against a nearby wall as he cursed his legs, the ground, and anything else that caught his fancy. Blood was splattered over almost every inch of him, none of it his, and he wiped a wet glove against his face in vain. He was large, muscled, and aside from his trench-coat and feathered hat he carried a nasty looking serrated blade at his side, the gore of whatever previous victim still present on its length.

“Filthy, putrid beasts,” he muttered to no one in particular, his bloodshot eyes scanning the streets as if to find such a target. None answered him, and he continued onward with determination. His steps were slow and lethargic as he climbed the stairs leading to a familiar courtyard, attention focused on one door. “Every one of you, every one! I’ll pull the blood from your very body!”

He slumped against the door, hand grasping an unmoving handle as he pushed against the wood. “Child, open up! Ungrateful rat,” he slurred, slamming the butt of his weapon to the door. “Show your father respect and open the door!”

From the other side, a small voice answered him. “Where’s mother? She said she would come back with you.”

“Your mother was a beast, girl. She was waiting until we were asleep, and then she would have killed us all!” he shouted, again slamming his weapon into the door.

A choked sob was his only response. The man’s face contorted in animalistic rage.

“You’re a beast too, aren’t you? You and your mother planned to kill and eat me tonight, didn’t you?” he bellowed, eyes wild. The blade in his hand clicked, then folded out into its extended form as he swung it violently overhead and into the wooden planks. They splintered inwards, and a shriek came from inside.

“Go away!” she sobbed again, voice louder. “You’re a liar! Go away!”

“I’ll kill all of you beasts, you demons!” the man yelled, deaf to his child’s screams. “You who dare to challenge the Church Hunters! Your blood calls to me!”

A second swing against the door cleaved it in two as light poured from the opening. The hunter grinned savagely and reached forward, pulling the ruined wood away and shielding his eyes.

Footsteps, slow and methodical, echoed in the courtyard. As he turned, a silver blade moved silently and deftly, sinking into his shoulder with a sick thud. A howl of rage and fury erupted from his lips as he whirled around, the saw-toothed cleaver swinging in a long arc.

The Crow ducked deftly beneath his errant swing, bringing her second blade up and into his torso before pulling both out with a sickening spray of blood. Her prey screeched, his voice already more monster than man, and threw himself at her again. She parried his first attack, knocking the cleaver wide, then side-stepped the second as she waited for her opening to appear again. He swung once more, long and slow, and she made her move. The curved silver-colored blades both shot forward at once, digging into his flesh, before she began a blinding series of slashes and stabs. Two, three, four, five attacks, each against another muscle, ligament or artery to cripple the hunter.

Finally, as the once-proud hunter of the Church stood before her broken and bleeding, she flicked the tip of her blade across his throat, ending his life with a gurgled curse. As the body fell to the ground, The Crow watched, dispassionately, before turning away to leave.

As she made her way past the open doorway, a small sound caught her ear. Turning, she saw the silhouette of a child peering from the lit interior, hugging the door frame as they looked from her to the body not ten feet away.

“What happened?”

The Crow was still for a long moment, before turning to face the child directly. They were dirty, with old clothing and no shoes. She’d seen many like them before.

“Your father is dead, child.” Her voice, with it’s low pitch and odd accent, resonated across the courtyard softly. It held no cruelty or warmth; only a tired truth.

They shrank back, eyes fearful. “And mother?”

“Yes.”

Tears began to fill the child’s eyes, running down one cheek, then the other. They stubbornly wiped them away with a dirty sleeve, trying their best to keep their voice strong.

“What do I do now? They were all I had.”

The Crow didn’t answer, her expressionless mask staring into the child as she silently cried. The child’s face grew angry.

“You did this! You could have stopped this! You could have stopped him from… from..”

“Stay inside, child. It wouldn’t do for you to be devoured by the beasts of the city,” The Crow replied, turning and walking away. The sounds of the child’s sobs echoed behind her as she exited the courtyard, clinging to the edges of her cloak with the man’s blood.

* * *

“You’re a cold woman, Eileen.”

The Crow stopped and turned her head silently towards the accusation. Three hunters, all wearing their holy garb, stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Their clothes were clean, but only barely, and each held their own trick-weapon at the ready as they faced her.

She didn’t answer him, her mask staring eyelessly as she waited for the words she knew were coming.

“Sylas was a church hunter, a hunter of beasts! A protector of Yharnam-”

“He was a blood-drunk fool who had just killed his own wife.” Her voice held an edge as hard and cold as iron. The leader of the trio was silent, contemplative.

“Are you sure? He had yet to show any of the physical signs of beasthood.”

“If he were a beast, he would have been your mess to clean up. I know my marks.” There was no room for argument in the certainty of the statement.

The hunter crossed his arms. “And what of the child?”

“What of them?”

“Will you just abandon them?”

No answer.

The hunter’s face soured. “Are you so cruel as to deprive a child of any parentage, and leave them to die in this bloody town?”

“I am a Hunter of Hunters, not a babysitter. If you care so greatly for the child, then take them in. Adopt them. And when you succumb to your bloodlust and beasthood, I’ll visit again. And this girl will lose a second father.”

The hunters bristled, all three raising their weapons. Eileen turned towards them fully, crossing her curved blades over her chest, waiting. Neither side moved for several moments.

Finally, the leader lowered his arms and let out a heavy sigh. The other two followed suit, their eyes betraying their relief.

“You are not infallible, Eileen. And soon you will answer to the church, and to God.”

“Two useless entities, more trouble than they are worth,” Eileen said. As the hunter started to retort, she turned away. “Now go, hunt some beasts. It’s what you hunters do.”

The group muttered angrily among themselves for a few moments before turning and walking back towards the courtyard. Eileen watched them leave, her critical eye following one in particular. She could smell it on him, that pungent scent of the beasts, the blood of the ancient ones coursing through his veins from too many transfusions. His eyes, hinting at yellow, would be the next to go. His hair would grow wild, his teeth sharp, before his mind finally succumbed.

He would be her prey soon enough.


End file.
